


The Melancholy of Kuroko Tetsuya: A Yaoi Light Novel by Mayuzumi Chihiro

by Bondmaiden



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Fluff, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-27
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-02-10 15:13:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2029833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bondmaiden/pseuds/Bondmaiden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That one fanfic where Kuroko drives to classes because he’s sick of getting elbows in his face on the train, tries to understand Nijimura’s crude hand-me-down bible of Exploring Professional Communication because his classmates Kise and Aomine are slacker idiots with different priorities, tries not to get caught up with the university’s Student Council President crises, and finds out that the guy who parks next to him—yes, that guy with the Mercedes Benz and red hair, is also trying to get his vote since he’s running for presidency too.</p><p>This should end well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. presidential woes and stuffs

  
**Community of Practice (CofP)**  
_”An aggregate of people who come together around mutual engagement in an endeavour. Ways of doing things, ways of talking, beliefs, values, power relations—in short practices—emerge in the course of this mutual endeavour.”_

**[Niji Notes] so groupies can be categorised under CofP too?**  


Kuroko Tetsuya despises driving.

Monday classes begin at 8.30 a.m. and anyone who’s driving in Tokyo would have half the mind to get out from their homes by at least 7.00, or suffer the unleashed wrath of Tokyo’s traffic jams. As much as he’d like to hop on the train and squish himself with everyone, trying to reenact a human sardine can, he’s had enough of people stepping on his toes and elbows smashing into his face. One can only take so many trips to the doctor’s office to nurse a swollen eye or a nearly broken nose, and the meagre student loans aren’t helping his piling bills. Being transparent is an amazing thing, really. He thanks God that he isn’t a raging pervert like Aomine; if not, his ability would’ve come in handy for stealing panties off the washing line.

But he digressed. 

Point is, he despises driving.

By right, Kuroko would’ve arrived at his university by 8.45 if he leaves home at 8.20 on a perfectly blessed traffic-free day. But traffic-free and Tokyo? _Hah._ His father’s black Yaris comes bumper-to-bumper with a Mercedes Benz, just inching away with every minute, and from satellite view, Tokyo’s streets must’ve looked like a tube of candies from the assortment of coloured cars on the road. He has a special spot of dislike for those drivers who feel it’s necessary for them to switch lanes as though it’d help making traffic faster, and those who love to text while driving. With their ride teetering unstably from side to side, Kuroko’s had better luck driving behind a drunkard than to trust a man on the phone.

It’s a daily challenge trying to get to his campus safely without hitting anyone. He doesn't know how he manages the stellar feat every time he parks his dad’s car into the allocated spot (Kagami once joked that his misdirection and invisibility might extend to his car like Harry Potter’s cloak, and thankfully the American-returnee-jerk was wrong), but he knows being thankful to the forces up there is good. 

What he doesn’t expect, on a Monday morning where it’s only seven minutes to his Literature Production class at nine, is to see another silver Mercedes pull into the lot next to his.

As far as Kuroko knows, he’s made this spot his. Granted, his initials aren’t sprayed in the square or he’s beaten off any other pesky cars with a nailed baseball bat like a yankee, but Kuroko specifically chose to park his car at the university’s abandoned Block C’s basement grounds to avoid everyone’s cars cluttering around him. Nobody else, save for the patrolling guards on bicycles and the occasional campus guests, would park here. 

So what’s with the expensive ride?

Half-bent over the backseat to grab his colourful plastic files and laptop bag, Kuroko soon discovers he doesn’t need to wait long to find out.

A messy shock of red hair appears from the driver’s door, slamming it shut with a practiced flick of his wrist, and a whirring sound echoes in the startlingly empty basement as the car’s side mirrors automatically closed. Impeccable choice of dress shirt with its sleeves hiked up to his elbows and a matching tie, sartorial slacks and shiny leather shoes, he hoists a briefcase and circles around his car like it’s his dance partner. The Red Stranger, or so Kuroko aptly names him, half jogs over to the basement elevators and presses the button to go up.

As someone who’s well-versed with how the elevators work in this parking lot, Kuroko takes his time in adjusting his assortment of items, juggling a thermos in one hand and car keys in another, and locks his car. No, his father’s Yaris doesn’t fancily flip its ears close unlike its regally foreign neighbour, but it does comically honk to signal it’s safe to leave it alone. All that pomp and Kuroko could still ghost up to the elevators without even worrying about having to miss it.

To his right, his companion, the Red Stranger, glares at the LED screen and doesn’t even notice his presence. Such a common occurrence, really, Kuroko isn’t even fazed by it. He just hopes that the Red Stranger doesn’t mash the close buttons and squish him between the heavy elevator doors once it gets to this floor, or freak out inside the tight confines of the elevator when he finally realises he isn’t alone—though the redhead seems far too composed for that to happen.

They ended up getting off on the same floor, 4th, trekked through those unlit hallways in complete darkness because the university’s a stingy company that doesn’t want its electricity bills to skyrocket, and only parted at the bridge overlooking the campus, where the Red Stranger goes down a different set of stairs that led to the cafeteria, and Kuroko’s the one heading to class.

Unsurprisingly, the man doesn’t notice him at all.

Of course, at that moment, unbeknown to Kuroko or the Red Stranger, it’s like one of Mayuzumi’s cliched light novel openings: It’s a meeting ordained by fate, and neither of them would have a chance to stop the cogs of fate from turning.

* * *

  
**Workplace Culture and Gender**  
_”Specific and often very distinct ways of doing gender in different workplaces have led to the assumption that there exist to different degrees relatively masculine and feminine workplaces. The gender of a workplace is reflected in demographic factors, behavioural tendencies, and communicative patterns.”_

**[Niji Notes] ★★★ VVI shit, memorise this**  


“Nobody gives two fucks about the presidential woes.”

Kise pouts and makes an abstract gesture in the air with his hands. “That’s what you think, Ahominecchi, but it’s really important! The president is the one who can determine the fate of our cafeteria!” he argues, glowering a little at how his table mate groans and picks his ears. “I’m serious! They gotta change the diet in the cafe, it’s so unhealthy I swear every time I take a bite, I risk getting a pimple on my face!”

Peering from over his secondhand copy of _Exploring Professional Communication_ , passed down like a sacred bible by their sixth semester senior Njimura, Kuroko sighs. 

No campus would be complete without the staple Student Council President elections, and that’s what’s going on this week. He’s thankful he hadn’t been handed Hyuuga’s makeshift election campaign letters disguised as Pokemon cards due to his permanent invisibility defect, but he did suffer quite a heart attack upon booting up one of the PCs in the Student Centre when the wallpaper’s been changed to an atrocious face of Imayoshi vying for people’s votes. Others opted for subtler, but more common tried-and-true methods: Kasamatsu’s approaching other students one by one personally to build a sense of camaraderie, but then again, Kuroko’s lack of presence proved effective against warding him off.

“No tits, no talk,” Aomine grouses words of wisdom, rolling his eyes. “Not sure if they’re being sexist like what Satsuki said, but the lack of boobs is making me bored. They need to step up their game.”

“Aaah, but Aida-senpai’s campaigning, she’s a female,” Kise points out, perking up visibly. “You think she’ll work on the whole cafeteria diet if I tell her she can have my vote?”

Aomine thumps his head on their shared desk, groaning. “No tits, no talk, dumbass. She’s a washboard. But I might reconsider if she puts up posters of her in bikini.”

“How rude! Breasts don’t make up her self-worth!”

“Shut up, Kise, I’m gonna go to sleep. Tetsu, wake me up for the next class.”

Kuroko nods and goes back to his book, promptly tuning out how Kise’s wailing about nobody taking him seriously before leaving to find someone else to talk to. Page 63 talks about Workplace Culture and Gender, where it stated that gender is a crucial aspect of a workplace’s culture, and it’s important for said workplace to function and organise itself properly. He takes a moment to properly digest what it means, hunts down for Nijimura’s handwriting in case he explains something within those pages, and is met with appalling disappointment. 

Sighing, Kuroko hopes that by the end of the day, _masculine_ and _feminine_ workplaces will start making sense to him, and goes on reading.

* * *

  
**Community of Practice (CofP)**  
_“In order to be classified as a community of practice, groups must fulfil three crucial requirements:_  
i) Members interact with each other regularly  
ii) they negotiate a joint enterprise  
iii) they develop a shared repertoire of discursive and behavioural norms..” 

**[Niji Notes] ★ what the fuck is shared repertoire? KIV.**  


Monday’s gone, replaced by Tuesday in a flash.

Last night, he stayed up to finish the remnants of the workplace dialogue his lecturer wants submitted today, something about including all four genres of front stage and backstage encounters, and since his helpless teammates Aomine and Kise were obviously unprepared for it, Kuroko shoulders the burden. He regrets waking up at 8.30 when his class is at 9.00, doesn’t even have the time to charge his laptop properly, and struggles to stay awake while the maddening traffic tries his patience. Part and parcel of a student’s life, or so they say.

With less than two minutes to get to English for Communication, Kuroko knows the pesky basement elevator won’t let him get there in time. So he casually closes his door, fishes out his bags (one is for his 17” laptop that breaks his spine with three kilograms, another is for his multitude of textbooks), and locks the Yaris to head to the lifts. 

That is, until, he hears a rapid screech of tyres like a car from Need for Speed came to life, and sees the same silver Mercedes hurling in at top speed. The Red Stranger flawlessly (or rather, aggressively) reverse-parks his car beside Kuroko’s with such precision that would put BBC’s Top Gear to shame, gets out with a blazer thrown over his shoulder, and grabs his briefcase from the passenger’s side. 

By this time, the elevator chimes to announce its untimely arrival, and Kuroko gives the busy Red Stranger a long, lingering glance before he steps into the antique, musky-smelling box. He can’t see the Mercedes from his angle by the panel, but he could hear the automated whirring of folding side mirrors, and so he holds the lift so that the redhead could get in.

Within seconds, said man appears in front of the doors, presses 4 again even though Kuroko’s already pressed it, and as the elevator sluggishly closes, he hears him cough.

“Thank you.”

Kuroko could only turn his head to look at the stranger, wide-eyed.

* * *

  
**Community of Practice (CofP)**  
_”The Community of Practice model can explain why people at work have developed distinctive ways of communicating with each other. However, although applying the concept to a workplace context is intriguing, the relationship between CofPs and the culture of the workplace in which they interact is complex.”_

**[Niji Notes] ★what if it’s a large workplace, you can’t expect everyone to talk w/ each other? KIV, gotta ask the lecturer.**  


“Your Pokemon plan failed, Mayuzumi! Now I’m the school’s laughingstock!” Hyuuga rages one fine day—still Tuesday though, stomping into Kuroko’s classroom to throw a stack of colourful papers onto their table. Several students looked over their way, then they hide their little smiles before going back to whatever they’re doing. Hyuuga only gets angrier—no, boiling livid at that. “Now fix what you started!”

From behind his latest ‘literature’ fix, _My Dad is a Lolicon and My Mother is a Fujoshi?!_ , the judgmental Mayuzumi scowls. “Excuse me? I’m pretty sure that 85% of the students have played Pokemon before, compared to your Basara obsession. It’s not my fault you photoshopped yourself into a Pokeball, trying to get the students to pick you as their starter Pokemon. I only gave suggestions.” Almost conspiratorially, his voice drops into a whisper as he cocks a brow. “By the way, that was really lame.”

Kuroko swears a blood vessel popped on Hyuuga’s forehead. 

“You little shithead—“

Wisely evicting himself from the potential war zone between two conflicting nerds, Kuroko decides that he’d rather join Aomine and Kise’s table for today. When he gets to their spot at the back of the class, he soon discovers that the subject isn’t something that he’d like to hear. 

“Satsuki’s gonna start campaigning for Riko, Tetsu,” Aomine begins as a way to greet Kuroko. He fishes out an empty chocolate box, empties its contents, and out comes little pink ribbons with gaudy hearts glued on it. Judging from the black eye on Aomine’s face, Kuroko wisely decides not to question it when Aomine slides a ribbon over to him. “Wear one, in case she smothers it in your face. Just to get her to shut up.”

“You know, I’m glad I don’t live across her apartment since I rented elsewhere,” Kise muses, rubbing his hairless chin like a bearded scholar. “Did you know that Aominecchi got called over to Momocchi’s place yesterday night to put these things together?”

Shaking his head, Kuroko takes a seat and accepts the proffered ribbon with a nod, but he slides it into his shirt pocket and hopes that it’ll lie forgotten. “It must’ve been tough, Aomine-kun,” he comments kindly, but the smile on his lips says otherwise. “Thank Momoi-san for me, please. It will be a tough battle ahead for the two of them.”

“Girl power all the way, eh?” the blond grins, chortling under his breath. “Say good luck to Momocchi for me too, okay?”

The tanned man only manages a glare at the two of them. “You better damn well start voting for them too, in case she hounds my ass for it. And she also told me to pass this around: Don’t vote for that prick Akashi Seijuro from the Business department. Rumour has it that he’s planning to play dirty by buying the university straight away.”

“ _Whaaaaat?_ Buying the university!? Isn’t that too dramatic!? Aominecchi, are you serious?”

That sounds like it came from one of Mayuzumi’s novels because the sheer concept itself is too extreme to be true, even for Kuroko. Not that Kuroko knows who’s Akashi Seijuro because their Faculty of Arts and Humanities (FAH) are eternally rivals with the Faculty of Business and Law (FBL)—something about calculative and creative thinking clashing horribly with one another, so these two courses never got along well. Kuroko’s only vaguely aware of someone called Midorima Shintaro from the other side because he’s a Cancer and he openly admits disliking Kuroko because he’s an Aquarius, despite the two of them barely even interacting with one another except for one library encounter, and that’s that.

“Business students are _soooo_ weird,” Kise adds, and Kuroko could only manage a nod at that.

He doesn’t know how strange life will get for him, but that’s what cliches are for.

* * *

  
**Culture and Politeness at Work  
** The Politeness Theory  
_”This theory revolves around the premise that all competent and rational adult members of a society, represented by a so-called ‘model person’ (henceforth MP), have two types of face and generally tend to aim at maintaining their own and each other’s face. Positive face is the MP’s desire that their own self-image is appreciated and approved by others, whereas negative face is the MP’s wish not to be imposed on and to maintain their freedom of action.”_

**[Niji’s Notes] two faces? wtf? is this some horror book?**  


Wednesday.

It has become some sort of new routine where the Red Stranger would somehow gravitate along with him, their schedules suddenly in synchrony with one another. 

Previously, he’s never even met the Red Stranger, or even recalled meeting someone as boldly crimson as him, but Kuroko easily attributed it due to the fact that he’s always the one who disappears right after classes end because he’d rather avoid getting suckered into ridiculous activities Aomine and Kise never failed to conjure. And, as of late, he disappears ten times faster because of the whole campaigning thing going around—he’d rather not be the one being asked to pass flyers around, thank you very much. 

But why would the Red Stranger choose to park beside him, out of all the empty parking lots underground?

He’s tried re-parking his dad’s Yaris to some isolated corner behind the crumbling beams and near the little ferny undergrowth, but somehow, the Mercedes always ends up finding him. Kuroko doesn’t flatter himself with thoughts of the redhead being a stalker—that’s eternally Kise’s job. But no rational explanation comes to him, other than the Red Stranger possibly finding solace or friendship in letting their cars stay together.

Regardless, it’s a companionable silence that Kuroko shares with the redhead owner of the Mercedes Benz; they don’t exchange words or bother initiating conversations, but that’s how it goes. And neither wanted to change any aspect of it.

Friday has things going the opposite way around: Red Stranger’s the one holding the lift for him at 9.07 a.m. even when he struggles to do side-parking with his car, stacks of files and books halfway collapsing like an avalanche in his arms, and his laptop bag hanging haphazardly from his shoulder. 4’s already lit up, pressed for their destination, and as the lift jerks upwards, beginning its sloth-like ascent to their floor, Kuroko catches the redhead’s smiling reflection in the surrounding mirror walls. 

Then something reaches out to steady a toppling _Public Speaking: To Walk Your Talk_ , a pale hand lined with sick green veins and carefully trimmed fingernails.

“Would you like me to help you?” the stranger asks, soft. 

When met with kindness, his grandmother often reminds him that it’s only polite to decline even though he does need the extra aid. “No, that’s quite all right,” Kuroko replies, shaking his head, “I can manage it on my own.” He shifts the books around single-handedly, planning to reshuffle the arrangement so that the biggest book will become the steadiest support at the bottom, but another pair of hands grabbed the top half of his textbooks. The Red Stranger is still smiling at him, casual, and Kuroko could only stare. “Um. Sorry for troubling you then.”

“That’s quite all right,” says the other man amiably, cradling the books close to his chest as he lifts a hand to tuck a stray lock of hair behind his ear. “You always held the lift for me even when you could be possibly late to class, so it’s only natural that I’ll return your act of kindness.”

In the midst of his complicated arrangement, Kuroko pauses to glance at the dim LED in the rattling lift. They’re only passing through M, still eons away from 1, 2, 2G, 3, and finally, 4. With a sigh, Kuroko tosses the Red Stranger a small smile. “Thank you then, that’s very kind of you.”

He only chuckles, bright crimson eyes glinting under the hazy orange glow of the elevator’s ancient lighting, and tips his head back. The stretch of his smile crawls wider.

“You’re welcome. What’s your name? Mine is Akashi Seijuro.”

* * *

  
**The Politeness Theory**  
_“These different types of face are often threatened in speech acts by so-called ‘face-threatening acts’ (henceforth FTA). In order to minimise the threat of FTAs, MPs may choose among a wide range of politeness strategies in an attempt to save their own as well as each other’s face.”_

**[Niji Notes] ~~FTA? Free Trade Area? Free the Animals? KIV.~~  
Oh. Face Threatening Act. So basically you smile even if you feel murderous? Is that it? **  


“—nah, man, he's the sworn enemy of the FAH. 'sides, I'm rooting for Aida Riko and Momoi Satsuki."

Getting out of Creative Writing II that he shares with Mayuzumi as part of their electives, Kuroko's greeted with a strange sight in the hallways. Kise and Aomine are both hounded by a Chihuahua in faded jeans and checkered shirt, who's adamantly shoving a piece of paper in their face. The collective groan from Aomine and apparent reluctance on Kise's face tells them everything they need to know. 

Mayuzumi's the first one to elbow Kuroko in the side, whispering conspiratorially. "That's one of FBL's students, and they're trying to brainwash us to vote for their idol, Akashi. I heard that the whole department, even the staff, are going to vote for him." Snickering at the exasperated look Kuroko's giving him, he cocks a brow. "You know you're next, Kuroko. You park next to him every day, right?"

"Please stop that, Mayuzumi-kun." Kuroko bats his arm away, tightening the hold on his bag. He manages a glower at the smirking man. "If you still would like to hitch a ride with me to the train station, please keep quiet. Let's be on our way."

Defeated at the threat, Mayuzumi shrugs and shuffles alongside him, casually sauntering right past Aomine who's threatening to punch a hole through the FBL student and a wailing Kise who's crying against violence. Kuroko pointedly ignores the growing rowdiness as the two of them move against the sea of jeering FAH students inciting the fight and once they're out of the danger zone, walking on the bridge connecting FBL, FAH and the deserted Block C building, it's only then Kuroko heaves a sigh. 

"That's a loud one," Mayuzumi points out, throwing back his head. "Are you having some existential crisis or something?"

"Not quite." Kuroko shakes his head, fingers fiddling with the height adjustment on his laptop backpack. "I'm sincerely hoping that the election season will end soon."

"Aren't you gonna vote?"

"No. I believe all of my friends are equally talented. Trying to pick between them is hard, and I feel like I'm betraying them if I do pick someone." Kuroko rolls one of his straps between the balls of his palms, pursing his lips. “Someone else will vote for them, I believe.”

It takes Mayuzumi a moment to process what he said, then he hums thoughtfully. ”Why don't you vote for that Akashi guy? I'm pretty sure he's fine under all the rumours of him trying to stab a lecturer in the first semester. That psychotic episode is already under control. Or…” he trails off, looking away, “ _should_ hopefully be in control by now. If not, it'll be like another episode of Corpse Party."

The implication of the title lost on Kuroko, he decides to look ahead lest he trips on the bubbly black rubber mats on the ground. “I don't think I will either. He has been nice to me, but I would rather stay out of the election business. Why don't you vote for him, Mayuzumi-kun?"

“Me?” the other incredulously scoots away like he could get germs from the thought. “I don't even know him. Besides, he's got the whole FBL behind him. I'd rather vote someone from our side. Hyuuga, if there's nobody else. Not Imayoshi, that guy feels like Hannibal the second."

Kuroko heaves another sigh again. “I see.”

It is then Nijimura pops up from the glass doorway as they inch nearer to the isolated building, busily stuffing his car keys into the pocket of his skinny jeans. Mayuzumi groans and mouths, _"Here comes the soon-to-be ex president,”_ and Kuroko jabs him to shut up. Nijimura, thankfully, doesn't notice the rude exchange. But his eyes ghost over one face to another, eyebrows raised in disbelief, jaw hanging. "Uh. Nice to see you three together, but this is a weird combo." 

Three? 

Kuroko immediately perks up and looks over his shoulder in unison with a highly skeptical Mayuzumi. Standing right behind them is the Red Stranger, Akashi, lugging his briefcase around in one hand and a sleek blazer cradled on another. Mayuzumi blanches so fast all the colours evaporated from his face to his hair and sidesteps the man like he's the abomination. Not quite as rude as the other, Kuroko only regards the redhead with a curt nod.

"Good afternoon, Akashi-kun."

Akashi returns the nod with a gentrified smile, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Mayuzumi's there with them. That or he's blatantly ignoring him because of what he said, but it doesn't seem that Akashi would stoop that low. Perhaps it’s also a case of selective eyesight. ”Good afternoon to you too, Kuroko, and Nijimura-san. 

“Afternoon, you three," the senior rumbles. He takes his time eyeing between the three of them, from Mayuzumi's obvious reluctance in participating in the conversation as he stands in the corner with his pocketed hands, to Kuroko's usual unperturbed face that has emotions rivalling a static TV, and finally to Akashi's open stance that indicates he isn't here to tip them over the bridge and sending them smashing on the ground in all gory glory. "Uh. Heard that the tension between the FBL and the FAH are getting pretty bad because of the elections. Didn't FMS send a representative too?"

Obviously, Nijimura's not talking to Kuroko, because Kuroko doesn’t even know anyone from the Faculty of Medicine and Science. Did that faculty even exist before? So Kuroko turns to Akashi for clarification. 

"Yes, FMS did have a representative, but for some reasons," here, his wispy red brows furrow as he seemingly tries to remember something crucial, "she decides to drop out earlier this week. Perhaps she met with some complications or unseen circumstances." 

"Are you sure you didn't take her out?" Mayuzumi shoots, deadpan. “ 'cause I'm pretty sure that's the current rumour in the department right now." 

Nijimura does a vague impression of a wordless mime at his baseless accusation and scowls deeper. "That's bullshit. Who the hell would do that just for my presidential title anyway?"

Mayuzumi only graces their conversation with an airy shrug and turns away. "Just checking. No harm done."

Akashi, strangely, doesn't reply to that scathing comeback. But he does regard Mayuzumi with a pointed look, and if there's anything Kuroko knows about FTAs, Akashi's obviously a cut-and-paste character from his textbook. Definitely threatened, and _so_ not liking it. Trying to save a semblance of sanity in their uncoordinated group chat, Kuroko casts a look at his worn wristwatch and coughs for distraction.

"I'm sorry, but I have to get going now," he says, gesturing for Mayuzumi to come along. And Mayuzumi, held against his will, does shuffle over though he keeps a strict three meter radius from Akashi. "It's nice to see you again, Nijimura-san. Please excuse us." To Akashi, however, Kuroko tries to smile. "It's nice seeing you again too, Akashi-kun. Good luck in your campaigning." 

When Akashi lifts his eyes, something about the offset of sunlight and crimson makes them gleam startlingly bloody. He doesn't look at Mayuzumi, and certainly not Nijimura. The slight curl at the corner of his lips reminds Kuroko of a cat finding a mouse hole. 

"Thank you, Kuroko. I'll look forward to seeing you again next week."

* * *

"His eyes either said he wanted to murder you, or bang you."

"With his car?"

"Car? No. Dick? Yeah."

"I'm honoured. But no." 

“No, I'm serious. Damn, I can start writing a yaoi light novel with this." 

"Don't you dare, Mayuzumi-kun. We still have a deadline to catch with all our assignments."

"... Yeah, yeah I know."

Ten minutes pass.

"Hey, do you think the novel can be a bestseller if I start on it now?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi. there's plot in this two-shot. i like the thought of them being university mates. also what is character development? comments, kudos and con-crits are also appreciated! here, have a preview for the next chapter:  
>  **[NEXT TIME ON The Melancholy of Kuroko Tetsuya: A Yaoi Light Novel by Mayuzumi Chihiro]**  
>  _So. Kuroko knew this day would come, no matter how hard he tries to deny it, because Mayuzumi’s voice is nagging him at the back of his head with his condescending tone, “You’re next, Kuroko, he wants to bang you with his dick, your whole life is a yaoi light novel,” and all Kuroko wants, right now, is to get to his class safely. The safest course of action? To confront the matter wholly without beating around the bush._


	2. the aftermath of the tragedy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ~~hey look who updated a year later with the sequel~~ Hello, welcome back to the ~~exciting~~ world of university ~~drama, chaos, and forbidden love~~ AU! *u* Here's to another instalment full of tragedies for our ~~BL~~ light novel protagonists.
> 
> Also: **yuuhikari had drawn a fanart for it[HERE!](http://yuuhikari.tumblr.com/post/112442205276/wellll-everyone-knows-that-uni-au-is-epic-and-then)** I'm forever thankful to that drawing it's so cute jksdlkajhd ~~and it has Mayuzumi in it.~~

  
**Rapport Management**

_Rapport management examines the way that language is used to construct, maintain, and/or threaten social relationships. Thus, in contrast to politeness theory, which assumes that MPs generally aim at maintaining smooth relations, rapport management is more generally concerned with any kind of behaviour that has an impact on rapport, whether positive, negative, or neutral._

**[Niji Notes] So I have a legit excuse to punch someone if it’s for negative rapport management?**   


Kuroko spends his weekends like any normal teenager would: By sleeping, managing his horde of assignments, and quietly pestering Aomine and Kise to submit their part of the report so that he can compile, print, and bind them for submission.

Their lecturer did mention that she’d upload the checklist prior to submission on the university’s student portal website, so Kuroko logs on—only to find out on the front page, there are square pictures with familiar faces on them. 

At the top, there lies Nijimura’s nasty mug, superiorly grinning with his arms crossed over his chest, bearing the silver tag of the university’s current Student Council President. Underneath him is the rest of the student body who’re competing for his title: Momoi and Riko are sharing a squished square together, Imayoshi’s glasses are glinting too brightly until Kuroko can’t see his eyes, Kasamatsu’s frown occupied a good 60% of his picture, Hyuuga’s trying to do _‘that anime protagonist with the glasses’_ thing (probably part of Mayuzumi’s half-baked suggestion again), and Akashi—

_—Akashi_ is the only with a perfect picture, no nonsensical lighting glare whatsoever. He doesn’t smile, but he doesn’t reek of hostility either. He doesn’t attempt any stupid poses, but he still catches attention easily. And his tagline at the bottom of his square, “Since I always win, I’m always right,” makes him all the more intimidating, like a glitched boss battle refusing to be defeated. 

It takes Kuroko a few minutes to remember why he’s on the student portal, and it’s only then he wills himself to look away from Akashi’s VOTE button judging him at the bottom of the screen. The tiresome day continues with Akashi’s imaginary voice ringing inside his head, saying his catchphrase in a broken loop, and that’s the lullaby carrying him to sleep under the covers.

Nightmare ensues.

* * *

  
**The Politeness Theory**   
_“Politeness thus arises through mitigation of an action that can threaten either negative face (e.g.: fulfilling a request) or positive face (e.g.: turning down someone). For example, a person’s positive face (i.e.: reputation) might be affected if they refuse someone’s plea for help._

**[Niji Notes] Is there a neutral face somewhere in this book? Where you don’t give a damn?**   


Then it’s Monday all over again.

Monday comes as easily as the car’s repeated honking behind him when he’s stuck in the middle of a crossroad, unable to shift to the left thanks to more cars blocking his path. Frustrated, Kuroko alternates glances from his rear mirror to the side, the blinking light of his signal gone unnoticed by other selfish drivers. On good days, some cars would allow him to pass to his destination, but most of the time, they’d think he’s trying to cut queues. He doesn’t like cutting queues, never would and never will, but they're not telepathic mind-readers to know his intention.

It isn’t until a silver Mercedes graciously allows him passage into the sharp turn by the left, bypassing the rest of the horrific traffic clogging the roads, and Kuroko mentally thanks the driver behind the wheels. Or, at least until he belatedly realises the car’s tailgating him all the way on the straight road leading to his university, right until he goes into the usual basement, where two rides harmoniously park beside one another nearest to the elevators. 

There’s no one else who would do that, it’s definitely—

Akashi steps out, as resplendent as ever in his knitted vest over an oxford shirt, and smiles at Kuroko. “Good morning, Kuroko.” His movements are a practiced dance played out; he takes his briefcase, shoulders his blazer, slips on a red tag exclusively for FBL students, and locks his car as he saunters over to the lifts to press up. “How was your weekend?”

And Kuroko, Kuroko who’s half-drowning under his tragic pile of textbooks, stapled reports reaching up to high heavens, wonders how Akashi could maintain his unruffled look despite running for presidency at the campus. Isn’t he supposed to have eyebags, like Kuroko does? Where are his assignments? Reports? Textbooks filled with formulas for working out accounting things in the business department? 

Trying to fish for his laptop bag, poor Kuroko could only mutter a muffled, “Good morning, Akashi-kun. My weekend was fine. How was yours?”

He does hear footsteps, yes, but he doesn’t manage to register them well enough until unfamiliar hands brush against his, pleasantly warm, and the entire weight disappears as the stack gets lifted away. Akashi willingly holds his burdensome books, makes an absent gesture to a staring Kuroko so he’d take his laptop bag, and once that ordeal is done, they both stride purposefully to the elevators, side by side, shoulder to _slightly_ -lower-than-Akashi’s-shoulder. 

Scratching his cheek, Kuroko looks over to the redhead who’s nonchalantly holding his textbooks. “Thank you very much for your help again, Akashi-kun, but please, let me carry them.”

“You can help me better by holding the lift and pressing 4 when it arrives,” Akashi points out, glancing at him from the corner of his eyes. The traitorously slow descent of the elevator fills the basement with a grunting, whirring sound, and Akashi picks out a quiet lapse for his voice to be heard again. “I heard you refused to participate in determining the future of our campus. Why?”

So. 

Kuroko knew this day would come, no matter how hard he tries to deny it, because Mayuzumi’s voice is nagging him at the back of his head with his condescending tone, “You’re next, Kuroko, he wants to bang you with his dick, your whole life is a light novel,” and all Kuroko wants, right now, is to get to his class safely. The safest course of action? To confront the matter wholly without beating around the bush. 

“I don’t like to pick between my friends.” 

“But I’m not your friend. You can, of course, have me as your next president.” He politely disagrees. “Besides, it will make both our jobs easier.”

Kuroko begs to differ with a frown. “I’m sure you don’t need my vote, Akashi-kun, because the whole FBL will be rooting for you.” Like a fanatic tribe offering their leader as a tribute, or so what Kise said during their restroom break last week. Kuroko’s tempted not to agree with the blond, but from the looks of it, truth is definitely stranger than fiction. “Whether I vote for you or not, it won’t make a difference.”

“Yes, I am aware of it.” Akashi hums, giving the shorter male a discreet glance. “But I thought you might be interested in knowing that the first thing I’ll be doing as the next president is to improve the performance of this lift.”

And that, _that_ is not expected. 

Unable to help himself, Kuroko eyes the LED panel marking the lift’s descent cautiously. Is there some sort of secret he doesn’t know to it? A tragic drama that occurred in Block C’s lift? Or a grim tale involving a murder or two? Or is that his inner Mayuzumi giving unnecessary commentary?

“…why?”

“Both you and I are using this lift, give or take a few more patrolling guards or university guests. Won’t it be terrible if it happens to get stuck while we’re in it?” Akashi helpfully supplies, quirking a brow. It’s almost as if he’s seen this coming, or he’s had some heads-up from other FBL seniors. “What if it happens while respected guests are in it? The university’s reputation will surely be damaged.”

“I… see.” 

Would something like that happen to him? That can't be it. Surely the management runs a maintenance or two annually, right? 

Kuroko’s rather content to let the subject drop since the lift has passed the second floor, drawing closer and closer to them. He’s sure he’ll forget about this as soon as he steps into World Literature, facing Dr Garcia and her terrifyingly accurate chalk-throwing super move, because she's the only contender for the university’s most fearsome lecturer.

But Akashi, _Akashi_ obviously has more to contribute to their offhanded chatter, like it’s a pressing matter that will become the bane of his existence someday, and he _has_ to share it with his lift-mate Kuroko so that they can tackle the distressing matter together. It’s as if someone had appointed Kuroko to be his physical diary for some reasons.

“It’s only a step in the right direction for the university,” says Akashi. “After this, I have more plans in store. Some of the walls have to be repainted, the computers in the Student Centre fixed, overall improvement of the cafeteria food since there have been complaints made against the unhealthy selection.” His eyes flicker to meet Kuroko’s, a knowing slant. “Plenty of things that are overdue, things that will ensure students’ satisfaction for the years to come.”

_So vote me, Kuroko, vote for me and I’ll make sure you’ll spend the best three years of your life in this campus under my ruling,_ is the overall impression Kuroko receives from Akashi’s magnificent speech.

But _ah_ , of course, Akashi obviously doesn’t know Kuroko’s the champion of battling against PAP—Persistent, Annoying and Problematic people, thanks to his daily impromptu training from Kise. If he thinks he can bait Kuroko with upgraded facilities and charming lines, he’s obviously perceived Kuroko in a wrong light. 

Kuroko Tetsuya won’t give in, no matter what. 

“But even if I don’t vote for you, you’ll still win the election, and in the end, you’ll still fix the lift and make the changes. I don’t have to do anything at all, Akashi-kun.”

If Kuroko’s words have a physical manifestation, it would take the shape of a hand fondly patting the top of Akashi’s head, like he’s a child who needs constant reassurance of his imminent victory.

Strangely, Akashi isn’t offended with what he said—or at least, he hasn’t shown any signs of wanting to murder Kuroko in cold blood _yet_. His face is eerily devoid of emotions. “Yes, you’re free to choose whatever you want to do. Not voting is perfectly fine with me. But it would be good to know that your vote won’t be wasted on a trivial cause, if you do decide to cast it on someone.”

The lift finally dings, and Kuroko steps into the metal deathtrap with Akashi. He presses 4 for the both of them, waits for the staggering doors to seal the two of them in, and feels the heavy tremor under his feet as it rolls upwards.

“I’ll help you carry your books to your class, at the very least.” The redhead adds in their silence, like he’s not content on leaving the matter be without having the final say in it. When Kuroko turns to stare at him in the eye, he returns the look with a curt nod for emphasis. “It’d be improper of me to leave you fumbling alone like this. And please, do remember to invest in a proper bag to carry them. Long term effects of lugging heavy textbooks like this will lead to scoliosis, a permanent damage on your spine.”

Akashi Seijuro doesn’t live up to his ill reputation of stabbing lecturers, or blackmailing students, or buying the university just to win the presidency if he’s giving Kuroko health advices like he’s the family doctor. Or at least, Kuroko thinks, his concern is genuine enough for it to show through his daily gestures towards their growing acquaintanceship. 

He isn’t a snotty overlord who’d fake something like this, is he?

“I’ve been carrying them like this even before we met,” Kuroko says, slowly clenching his clammy hands into loose balls. “Please do not change my habit.”

“Yes, I am aware of that,” Akashi answers with a slight laugh, shaking his head, “but it’s a bad habit nonetheless. Who knows if the effects are starting to set in? You ought to be caring for your health a bit more—your eye bags are worsening, if you haven’t noticed. I understand that FAH students are constantly pressured for time while doing assignments, but your lack of regard for your body will be the death of you.”

_Or you_ , Kuroko mentally supplies.

“… thank you for your thought, Akashi-kun.”

* * *

“… you didn’t really stab a lecturer in your first semester, did you?”

“Of course not.”

“Are you sure?”

“Did you happen to hear a particular rumour where I supposedly ran over someone when I was driving in campus?”

“… no?”

“Or the one where I supposedly wanted to buy the entire campus to win the elections?”

“… oh, I’ve heard of that one.”

“The students of FAH are creative; it makes me wonder what’s in store for this week.”

* * *

  
**Constructing Identities at Work**

_Considering that most people spend a good deal of their time at work, it becomes clear that workplaces are important sites of identity construction. Not only are institutions sources and sites of identification for individuals, the process involved in the negotiation of members’ identities in turn also contribute to creating and shaping the image of their procession and the specific workplace environment in which they regularly interact._

**[Niji Notes] Is this book encouraging us to have split personalities?**   


“Did you notice how he’s fitting the role of a yaoi manga’s _seme_ perfectly?”

Kise chokes on his udon and snorts out a whole strand of noodle through his left nostril. Aomine makes retching noises and ducks under the cafeteria table for emphasis—thank you Aomine, Kuroko isn’t sure how else he’s supposed to express his disgust as eloquently as he did. Mayuzumi’s unconcerned and constant stirring of his Pokka Strawberry Milk Tea makes him look almost guiltless, save for the controversial statement coming from his mouth just mere seconds ago. 

“I wonder how,” Kuroko deadpans. 

Obviously, it's a rhetorical sentence to shoot down a conversation that he doesn't want to participate in, but Mayuzumi lowers his glasses like one of those stereotypical bespectacled geniuses in anime and looks at him as though he’s stupid. “Sometimes I beta-read a few fan fictions before artists put them up on Pixiv, so I know how unrealistic these fantasy guys can be. But wow, he really fits the trope.” He whistles low and starts counting off his fingers. “Rich guy, check. That guy’s the heir of Akashi Group, if you didn’t read the news. Handsome face, check. Ladies from FAH, FBL and FMS are trying to get into his pants daily. Good grades, check. Four pointers all semesters, that’s pretty crazy. Nice car, check—“

“He rides a fucking Mercedes to classes, for crying out loud,” Aomine moans, rolling his eyes. “Isn’t that overkill for just a student? What is he trying to show off exactly? That he doesn’t have loans like us, the commoners?”

“—and he’s a jerk with a heart of gold, since he’s obviously nasty to everyone else but you,” Mayuzumi adds with a smirk, something that somehow manages to grate on Kuroko’s usually infinite patience. “Come on, the whole class was staring this morning when he stepped in with your books. Don’t you think that’s a bit,” he drops his voice, “ _into it_ for you? I’m willing to bet that he’s got some tragic background story too, if you need added tear works.”

Someone’s about to get punched.

“B-B-But Kurokocchi’s not going to be easily wooed by some tricks like that!” Kise wails nasally, though Kuroko cringes when he realises that Kise’s still in the process of pulling out the udon from his nostril. “Just because he’s rich, he has a nice car, and he’s nice to Kurokocchi, that doesn’t mean he’s good enough. I’ve got a pretty good salary too, being a model. And Kurokocchi and I get along well, don’t you think? We’d make a perfect couple!”

Aomine grimaces. “Never.”

“Never.” Mayuzumi suppresses the shudder. 

And Kuroko promptly punches Kise right in the gut under the table with his special Ignite Pass.

* * *

  
**Identities at Work**

_”Identity is everywhere. Every time we engage in communication, we orient to and construct identities. This may be implicit or explicit, involve deliberate and conscious efforts, or it may be unconscious and happen almost by accident. We always do identity work when we communicate: for example, we may construct our own identity, that of our interlocutors or audience, and also that of the company or organisation that we represent.”_

**[Niji Notes] This book is definitely encouraging us to have split personalities.**   


If the Gods are trying to terrorise him with Akashi, they’re obviously doing a pretty good job.

Now, his mornings are gradually occupied by Akashi, eventually centring around everything involving Akashi. He’d show up with his too-straight tie and perfectly combed hair, silver cuffs and leather shoes, while shabby Kuroko’s swallowed by blue striped shirt twice as big, a checkered sweater if the morning’s cold, and somewhat ratty, squeaky sneakers. 

Heaven and Earth separate them. 

Or, according to Mayuzumi, it’s the average _uke_ meeting his filthy rich _seme_ ; no big deal, it happens _all_ the time in the fictional world.

By all means, Kuroko does not consider himself a person of low self-esteem. Being an average man from an average family, he’s aware of his limitations—what with his average abilities and average appearance (or lack thereof). Life goes on without any big hitches, and that’s what he’s thankful for. As long as he keeps attending classes and return home in time for dinner, he’ll manage.

But being in the same space _with_ Akashi and his brand name cologne, Akashi and his four-figure suit, Akashi and how he operates just with a series of graceful motions, everything about Akashi reminds Kuroko that he is indeed what Mayuzumi calls as a walking trope. Good grades, good looks, good background, and maybe a bit of a tragic background story too.

He certainly didn’t expect to get it right though, especially when the topic they discussed, grades, had nothing to do with it.

“My mother passed away when I was young,” Akashi said on one of their walks together, quiet and casual like it used to torment him with sleepless tearful nights, and now doesn’t bother him anymore. “My father often tried to perfect me as I am his only heir, and I did my best to cope with it. As such, I’ve grown used to unrealistic expectations because they shaped me to who I am today. It’s secondhand nature by now.”

Kuroko stares. He tries to form words. And fails. Mayuzumi must’ve been a sage in his past life for predicting this far. So Kuroko settles for pressing 4 and clutches the straps of his book bag tightly. 

Akashi smiles at the added improvement in Kuroko’s life, feasibly pleased at how his advice is heeded, and stares at their reflection on the brushed metal interior. “You should remember to continue living as you are, but remember not to push yourself too hard. If you fall ill, it won’t benefit anyone at all.” 

Their uncanny relationship of sorts grew like wildfire over the days, with more and more people whispering, elbowing each other whenever they pass through the hallways and over the bridge. 

Kise always greets him with teary bloodshot eyes at the back of his classroom—“What do you expect, he lost his first love to the campus psychopath,” Mayuzumi supplies—and Aomine’s face is permanently stuck on one mode: Heavy leering that goes well with his suggestive eyebrow wiggling and crude hand motions involving a pointing finger and a hole.

“He wants the D,” is what Aomine scribbled on his lecture notes one day.

And Kuroko immediately rectifies it by adding Dictatorship, leaving it at that.

* * *

  
**Community of Practice (CofP)**   
_”Communities can better be nurtured by continuing its existence. By creating the conditions for communities, they can flourish in an organization. Some of those conditions include: helping people with a shared interest find and connect with each other; securing management support for the time and attention it takes to participate and lead CofPs; recognizing the contributions of a CofP; and providing basic support.”_

**[Niji Notes] This book is just using complicated jargons just to teach us how to make friends. Can’t believe I wasted my money for this.**   


“Good morning, everyone.”

The members of the table greet him with awed silence.

Akashi isn’t discouraged. He smiles politely at everyone, the well-behaved businessman he is, not the filthy infiltrator of FAH, yet barely spares them another glance when he turns to look at Kuroko. “I’ll leave you to your friends then. Have a good morning, Kuroko. And remember to concentrate in classes instead of texting me.”

When he walks off, however, Kise’s obviously the first one to sulk. “Did he need to show off that he's got your number now!? That’s super childish of him.”

“The next thing you know, he’ll say that you forgot your underwear at his place again.” Mayuzumi chuckles, smirking too wide. Kuroko shoots him a dirty look, but he deflects it with his LVL99 otaku barrier. “What, can’t I enjoy that my friend’s life is going through the path of a clichéd light novel? Or if you want, a manga? Should I provide spoilers for his character route?”

“Please stop it, Mayuzumi-kun,” Kuroko sighs, feeling the weight of the world bearing down on his shoulders. “If you don’t, then you will be banned from getting into my car anymore.”

Thankfully it’s Friday, where he could take a break from all the nonsense playing out in his life. Though, the only challenge left today is surviving the rest of his classes with his traitorous classmates poking fun at him every few minutes.

“I’m just telling you what to expect, seriously.” Mayuzumi defends himself with a smug look, gloating like a superior species just because he spent his entire life dedicated to light novels and harem games like the otaku he is. “Since I’m a good friend of yours, I’ll let you in a little secret: Avoid taking the lift with him at all costs.”

Kuroko isn’t amused. “Thank you, Mayuzumi-kun, I will start climbing five floors instead.”

“So when is he going to start meeting your parents, hmm?” 

“Next week, when my grandmother finally comes to terms with the fact that her favourite grandson will be bringing home a boyfriend instead,” Kuroko dryly replies. When Aomine’s eyes bulge out of the sockets and he sprays out his milk coffee all over Kise’s face, Kuroko shakes his head in disbelief. “I was obviously lying. Please don’t think that I will be dating him next week, everyone.”

“As long as you keep avoiding the lift, you’ll deviate from his character route,” says Mayuzumi sagely, handing the sputtering, indignant blond his packet tissue. “But if you’re still going after him, then don’t come to me when you want to learn about the pleasures of anal sex—all I know are from fan fictions and they’re not reliable.”

“I’ve got condoms, but eh, you’re gonna want lube with that,” Aomine adds, peeling his wallet open to fish out a packet of foil. “Maybe you can pass off some hair conditioner as lube, if you guys are really desperate?”

Such supportive people they are, Kuroko wonders how he managed to secure a band of idiots to play the part of his friends.

* * *

  
**Corporate Identity**   
_”Corporate identity has been defined as ‘the sum of all the factors that definite and project what the organisation is, what it stands for, what it does, how it does it, and where it’s going’ (Melewar 2003: 197). How you represent yourself reflects how you represent your corporation.”_

**[Niji Notes] So basically, how I represent myself reflects how I’m representing the university as the student council president? Thank god Mayuzumi didn’t become the president.**   


“T-THERE HE IS!”

“GET HIM!”

A university, according to Kuroko’s dictionary, is an institution of higher learning. Various facilities are provided for ease of teaching, researching, and authorising academic degrees: these range from graduate schools for bachelor degrees, and professional schools to cater to master degrees and doctorates. While some students use the provided bathrooms for their private smoking grounds and library carrel rooms for _suspicious_ activities, it’s definitely no such ground for this.

“TETSU-KUN, YOU’RE DATING AKASHI-KUN!?”

Inconveniently, he doesn’t disappear into thin air this time. And no, Evasion 101 doesn’t work either. 

Leading the March of Kuroko Tetsuya right behind him is Momoi, tailgated by Riko and Hyuuga, and a clueless Kiyoshi at that. Aomine’s blubbering all sorts of wrong facts to Momoi and hell hath no fury like Momoi scorned, while Kise’s lamenting over his lost love like a classic Shakespearean major. Mayuzumi walks the farthest from the groupie, hands in his pocket like the nerd loser he is, but the smirk on his face announces which side he’s supporting.

And it’s clearly not Kuroko’s.

Walking away fast and faster since they’re rapidly gaining speed, Kuroko grips his bag tight and doesn’t look back. Someone should applaud his bravery for actually daring to call out over his shoulder. “No, you’re wrong, Momoi-san, I’m not dating him. It’s a lie.”

“Don’t listen to him, Satsuki—you’ve seen the guy, he’s trying to cut the queue into Tetsu’s boxers and we all know it!” Aomine bellows. “Preach it, Kise!”

“It’s true, Momocchi!” Kise wails in a near-hysterical reenactment of a mother losing her child in the supermarket. “He’s been putting his moves on Kurokocchi from the parking lot to the lift to the cafeteria and even in our classroom! Can you just _imagine_ an FBL student walking into our class, carrying Kurokocchi’s books!? He trespassed our territory and now he’s trying to take what’s ours!”

The shriek erupting from Momoi’s mouth pierced through the hallway and could’ve ruptured their eardrums if she goes a pitch higher. “ _What!?_ But Akashi-kun isn’t someone like tha—“

“You gotta believe us! It’s time to defend our territory, Satsuki!” Aomine instigates the fight with a thumbs-up, grinning his approval. “We can’t lose our FAH member to FBL!”

A lecturer dares to peek out of his classroom to inspect the source of the ruckus, sees the mob spearheaded by Momoi, and promptly disappears behind the door again. Momoi’s set a new record for herself in the campus as the lioness backed by her harem, and she stops at nothing to get it. No one will stand in her path when she’s in pursuit for the love of her life, not even a lecturer with a show-cause letter. 

“Once my yaoi light novel about your love life gets enough hits on the internet, I’ll petition for KyoAni to make it into an anime,” Mayuzumi calls out from the tail end of the group. “We’ll split 50-50, deal?”

“Kyoto Animation doesn’t produce BL,” Kuroko huffs. “Try harder, Mayuzumi-san.”

Mayuzumi has the nerve to roll his eyes. “ _‘Free’_ was close enough.”  
‘  
Speed-walking should be the next Olympic sport and Japan should send Kuroko to represent the country, considering he’s already started his training this early. Coughing behind his hand, he pretends there aren’t fellow shell-shocked seniors effectively plastering themselves against the wall to make way for their impressive troupe, and ended up scaring many juniors right into empty seminar rooms. Hoping for them not to hear the bit about yaoi and BL is a bit too late; it’s bound to be gossip fodder for next week’s mill. 

“Kuroko, c’mon, if you’re a man, you gotta tell it straight to us!” Hyuuga grunts, panting with the exertion of trying to catch up with how Kuroko’s rapidly gaining speed by the second. “We’re not gonna be mad—“

“Why should we be mad?” Kiyoshi—ah, God bless Kiyoshi with his warm, genial smile as though he’s Kuroko’s father and he fully understands that he has to let his son wed Akashi, his only suitor—adds. “We can talk this out, right?”

Riko’s the one who goes directly opposite of what Kiyoshi’s said by rolling up her sleeves and cracking her knuckles. “Like hell we will! Kuroko, get back here! You are _forbidden_ from dating that Akashi guy!”

Darting to the right and nearly missing his footing because he overlooked the big yellow sign clearly stating ‘CAUTION: WET FLOOR’, Kuroko halves his speed in lieu of tiptoeing through the slippery hallway, all the while with the chorus of janitors groaning in exasperation. He obviously made the right choice at the sacrifice of his speed; Kise fell face-first into the soapy bucket by the corner and Aomine tripped over the floor sign with a loud curse. 

As expected, nobody in the team stopped to help them up.

A quick consultation at the reflection of the glass windows tells Kuroko that Mayuzumi is still alive and still breathing, and is _still_ wearing that haughty know-it-all smirk of his. Damn his tenacity that rivals a cockroach.

Two down, five more to go.

As much as Kuroko wants to celebrate his victory in shaking off two lethal adversaries in fuelling Momoi’s fighting spirit, everything good has to come to an end as the slippery stretch soon dries out—and they’re at it again, Olympic speed-walking through the hallways. Kuroko makes a quick left out of the glass doors and would’ve sprinted towards the bridges interconnecting FAH and FBL, but a raucous mob of males approaching from the other side scares him.

Nobody would’ve expected Akashi Seijuro to be manhunted by his friendly duo.

“Sei-chan, please!” a particularly effeminate-looking man (with eyelashes that could give Kise a run for his money) sorely tries to prove a point that Akashi doubtlessly rejects. “Your happiness is really important to us. As much as I despise interacting with those unreasonable FAH brutes, you matter so much to me that I’ll do it if you ask.”

Akashi looks like he’d leap off the bridge and shimmy down the nearest tree rather than enduring their torturous interview. “I’ve mentioned it once and I’ll mention it again: We are merely acquaintances. That is all.”

“We got your back if you’re going on with this.” A brutish man with a buzz cut blurts out—he clearly needs to dig his ears for completely overlooking what Akashi just uttered a few seconds ago. With his bulging biceps and thick muscles, Kuroko doesn’t need to look further to know Buzz-Cut’s hearing capabilities are limited, no thanks to the enhanced muscles constricting his ear canal. “If there’s anyone who protests, I’ll smash their skulls!”

Perhaps Kuroko shouldn’t have busied himself with Akashi’s predicament when he, too, has sharks who are taking advantage of his distraction. Momoi’s fingers made a near brush on his backpack but Kuroko effectively evades her clutches and adds a bit of a jog to his walk—but really, his sides are hurting and he’s _this_ close to wheezing like an old man. 

God forbid him from collapsing into Akashi’s arms once they meet up at the front like some _shoujo_ manga ripoff; he’d never hear the end of it from Mayuzumi. 

“Tetsu-kun, p-please!” Momoi tries again, breathing heavily through her nose as she struggles to catch her breath. “Tell me Akashi-kun hasn’t done anything to you!”

… in retrospect, maybe Momoi shouldn’t have said that aloud, considering their close proximity with Akashi stans from the opposite end of the bridge.

“What was that?” Eyelash Man gasps, affronted. His line of attention swiftly redirects from Akashi to Momoi, and the look of pure horror crossing his eyes would’ve set the bridge ablaze. “Why—Sei-chan isn’t that sort of man who would be putting his hands on just about anyone! He’s a gentleman!”

“Akashi-kun shouldn’t be hitting on my Tetsu-kun then!” Momoi rebukes, pouting. And yes, she is almost victorious in closing in on Kuroko, but the shadow sidesteps her grabby hands and skitters on. “Wh—Tetsu-kun, stay still!”

“No Akashi is going to get our Kuroko!” Hyuuga hollers, pumping his fist in the air. “Down with FBL, down with FBL!”

“Akashi’s free to love whatever guy he wants to love, and I’ll punch anyone who says no!” Buzz-Cut declares, smashing his fist to his palm in what Kuroko thinks is a gesture supposedly intended to intimidate those with his level of IQ. “You wanna be the first in line?! Come at me!”

“Ei-chan, don’t do it in the middle of the bridge! At least wait until we’re on proper grounds!” Eyelash Man wrings his hands to a pinch-faced Akashi. “Sei-chan, stop him!”

Too late. 

Coming face-to-face at the junction, it is strange how two people can find a sense of camaraderie resulting from similarly chaotic situations they’re in. By the time Kuroko gets a good look at Akashi with sweat beading down his forehead and a crooked tie, overhead, Buzz-Cut’s fist cuts through the air and makes proper acquaintances with Hyuuga’s jaw. In a tragic sequence of reactions, Momoi screams, Kiyoshi gasps, Hyuuga grunts, and somewhere in the background, someone’s giving a low whistle of amusement. 

It’s Mayuzumi, no doubt about it. 

World War III kickstarts with a bang when Hyuuga decides it’s only proper he goes big with a kick on Buzz-Cut’s knee, but his aim is pretty bad when he misses and ends up nailing Eyelash Man right on his foot. The agonising howl makes Kuroko pity him for a second there. Someone’s yelling for them to stop, and there’s Kiyoshi’s giant hands swooping in the air to block more punches from Buzz Cut while Mayuzumi circles the battleground with his phone whipped out and obviously recording every second of this for Nico Nico Douga. Aomine miraculously charges in with Kise wielding a bucket at the very last second and—

“—they’re distracted. Here’s our chance.”

Someone’s hand grabs him, fingers intertwining like laces. Akashi’s face is too close for comfort until Kuroko sees strands of his matted bangs clinging onto his forehead. His warm breath plays on Kuroko’s cheek as he whispers: “Let’s run for it.”

Before one part of Kuroko’s mind makes an active effort in cross-referencing Akashi’s words with his mental compendium, the redhead dashes forward down the T-junction of the bridge and drags Kuroko with him. Poor, poor Kuroko and his splitting sides could only hang on for the ride as they race towards Block C, hand in hand, red and blue together, with an epic scene of massive destruction playing in the background. In slow motion with a fitting music playing, they would’ve looked like modern-day lovers eloping from two warring clans fighting one another for centuries.

Of course, at that moment, unbeknown to Kuroko or Akashi, it’s like one of Mayuzumi’s clichéd light novel endings: Their meeting was one ordained by fate, and neither of them had a chance to stop the cogs of fate from turning.

* * *

“W-Wait, where did Kurokocchi go!?”

“Oh my god did someone accidentally push Tetsu-kun off the bridge!?”

“Fuck—everyone, spread out! We gotta find him!”

 

 

The musky-smelling decrepit box called the lift begins its steady descent of four floors, holding two passengers captive in its stomach. The protagonists of this tragic light novel, barely escaping the assault from their friends, are doubtlessly in pain; one is doubling over while clutching his sides, and the other leans against the icy cold wall for support. 

Akashi withdraws a folded handkerchief from his slacks, dabbing it on his forehead. “You have fearsome friends, Kuroko.” His gaze slips downwards to keep an eye on the other in case he collapses due to his dismal display of stamina, but thankfully, nothing tragic happens. “Keeping up with them daily is certainly an exercise on its own.”

“They have their merits, Akashi-kun…” Kuroko’s shoulders shake with the chugging effort of trying to supply as much oxygen as he can to his lungs before he passes out on the floor. “Try being classmates with them for a semester and you’ll see what I’m talking about.”

Maybe Akashi shouldn’t have chuckled at the thought of transferring straight from FBL to FAH, because Kuroko gives him a look that suggests he’s either terrified of being trapped inside a confined space with a potentially problematic psychopath (who has record-breaking rumours circulating the campus weekly), _or_ Kuroko thinks Akashi’s chuckles should be forever immortalised as his alarm tone in case he needs extra help waking up in the morning. 

“My apologies,” says Akashi, softening the harsh lines on his face with a smile in hopes that he will tame the wild animal right into its familiar habitat again. “I was just amused thinking about how my lecturers will react if they know I'm leaving FBL on short notice.” When Kuroko regards him as though he should really run for the mountains, Akashi deigns it wise to tack on more clarification: “To be your classmate, Kuroko. That’s what I’m saying.”

Metallic clanging of the rattling lift fills the four-by-four space of silence between them.

The look in Kuroko’s eyes is best described as him wishing the lift would descend faster so he could grab his car and drive far, far away from their university, never to return, but the treacherously ancient thing barely made its way past 3. 

“Please don’t do that, Akashi-kun, you’ll really inconvenience me,” Kuroko deadpans.

“And why is that?” asks Akashi with the perfect spoonful of concern in his voice, measured out to feed his concern right into Kuroko’s mouth should he ever doubt it. “I’ve learned almost all there is about business since my family owns a company, so why shouldn’t I consider taking up literature for a change? It should make for an interesting experience. I read as much as you do.”

Discomfort isn’t even close enough to explain the expression seizing Kuroko’s face, what with his reluctance in meeting Akashi’s eyes—or even the jut of his lips that must’ve been a trait he acquired from being in close contact with Nijimura himself. The LED panels barely trickles past the third floor, so Kuroko takes the chance to crouch on the floor and stare on the patterned tiles as he formulates an answer.

Akashi waits.

He’s a patient man. He’s always been patient. Even when Kuroko is late and he winds up holding the lift for the other to ride with him. Ten minutes of silence is still ten minutes of silence with Kuroko, and it is still time they spent together, minus the lack of interaction from each other. The silence isn’t exactly uncomfortable.

Finally, whether he’s given up in trying to deter Akashi with silence, or he’s had it with beating around the bush and he decides to spare countless chapters of anguish whereby their conflict could’ve been cleared up with just a simple sentence explaining his circumstances, Kuroko raises his head and fixes Akashi a strange look.

“Akashi-kun,” he says in a perfected tone of grave solemnity, “the whole campus thinks we are dating each other.” Which is, by far, not the most absurd rumour Akashi’s ever heard because—him running over someone on campus, nobody could ever beat _that_. “Please imagine the apocalypse that will be over our heads when they see you sitting in class with me. I’d like to lead a normal university life without any more of Mayuzumi-san’s predictions coming true, thank you very much.”

“Oh?” Really, he shouldn’t be finding interest in mundane things such as gossips, but the words escape Akashi’s lips before he eloquently rephrases them. “What did he say, Kuroko?”

A shrug. Okay, so the shrug is more of Kuroko awkwardly twisting his shoulders upwards while simultaneously looking away to break eye contact, making him look like he suffered from a bad case of neck cramp (that or he needs an exorcism), which deepens Akashi’s suspicion. 

“Mayuzumi-san thinks soon enough, you will be reminding me that I forgot my underwear at your place.” Kuroko says, in poorly hidden chagrin. “That will not be happening.”

“If you happen to forget, then I will be sure to remind you.” Akashi reassures him, finding absolutely no harm in Kuroko’s words. “It isn’t much trouble for me to bring it from my house.”

There might have been a sound of embarrassment dying in Kuroko’s throat as soon as it threatened to come up. He’s petulantly staring at the floor as though he wants it to rip open and suck him through the chasm, but nothing comes up. He only warbles: 

“Mayuzumi-san’s implying that we will be having sex.”

Akashi brows furrow. “Oh.”

They’re both 21. Sex isn’t quite a taboo topic anymore, unless in the presence of minors. This topic should be explored in broader context between both participants of the conversation, and Akashi would’ve gladly pitched in his two yens for a rebuttal, but the lights started flickering like some overused horror movie theme. 

Then the lift judders to a halt, shaking hard.

And the lights give one last epileptic performance before it shuts down completely.

Which leaves them in pitch black darkness, darker than the forest of Nebuya’s armpit hair. 

“Not again…” comes Kuroko’s groan from the far left side of the corner, where he was last seen crouching. There is a shuffling of feet, some clapping of hands on thighs to brush off some dust, and Kuroko sighs. “Mayuzumi-san should quit studying and work as a fortune teller.”

Blinking hard, seeing nothing but arid darkness, and blinking again to get his eyes used to the disappearance of light, Akashi cradles his chin with his palm. “I take it he’s seen this coming?”

“Even warned me about taking the lift with you,” is the dry reply from Kuroko. Again with the shuffling of feet, and this time a thump on the wall follows. Kuroko had probably leaned all of his weight against it. Then, as though a moment’s clarity had passed over him, his voice grows stronger in suspicion as though he’s looking right in Akashi’s presumed direction. “… didn’t you mention something about the lift getting stuck too, Akashi-kun?”

Why yes. On a certain Monday earlier this week. 

“That I did,” he admits. “Given the lift’s condition, it was a foreseeable circumstance. I wasn't hoping for this to happen but…" he shrugs, realizes Kuroko wouldn't see his apologetic gesture in this terrible darkness, and substitutes it for rubbing his nape. "We should try calling for help."

Sudden brightness tears through the black space when Kuroko whips out his cellphone, its screen glaringly bright. The reflection in Kuroko’s eyes is watery when he turns the device off with a flip. He isn’t the sort of person who would sigh much about anything, but this situation warranted one long, _long_ sigh to express his feelings. In this darkness without any facial cues from Kuroko, Akashi could only interpret it as a prolonged prayer for divine intervention to help them both out of this sticky situation.

“There’s no signal,” says Kuroko as an exhausted lament. “How about yours?”

A quick check on his smartphone, followed by a grimace at the shock of white light leaping at his face through the darkness, only solidifies their situation that has grounded to a halt. “Not on mine as well. This is an old lift, so I doubt it that any signals will go through.”

They are enveloped in silence that is far too uncomfortable. 

“Do you think we’ll die here, Akashi-kun?” Comes the inevitable question, a tragic whisper. “We’re lucky the lift only stopped halfway, but if the cable snaps…”

Clearly, someone has been watching too many thriller movies to feed his ravenous imagination. Or read one too many novels for literary reviews. Given their circumstances, Akashi musters up a denial but stops short when he detects a slight tremor running down the walls of the lift. Kuroko’s prediction might not be too far off after all. 

“In worst case circumstances, we might,” he admits, exhaling slowly as though he isn’t aware he’s been holding his breath ever since the lift gave a little shiver. “But don’t worry. There are other guards who use this lift as well. Once they see that it doesn’t move anywhere, they’ll definitely call the repairmen to get it serviced.”

Again with the tragic whisper. This time, it sounded like all traces of hope have dissipated through the air. “What if they don’t?”

“They run on schedules, Kuroko.” Akashi reminds him. “It might take some time, but it’s our only hope.”

He wouldn’t go as far as calling it being optimistic, being realistic is more accurate. Their chances of dying inside a stuck elevator can’t be _that_ high since it only happens in the fictional world. It’s a common occurrence. Somewhere in this world, surely there are a few more people who are stuck in a similar situation too, getting trapped in elevators and the like. Or so Akashi believes, until the metal box gives another jolt that forces them to vibrate like heated molecules, going on for one second, then two, and a three, four—

—a piercing noise shoots through the elevator shaft, echoing shrilly, budging the metal deathtrap downwards by a few inches. 

As much as Akashi dislikes admitting it, he finds his palms plastered on the elevator walls for support, slick with sweat. And his knees are bent at an angle meant to support his fall. Only when he’s certain the little tremor has stopped for good he turned to wherever he presumed Kuroko might be. He should congratulate himself for not speaking with a shaking voice.

“They’ll come,” Akashi repeats, even though it sounded more like an attempt on reassuring himself. “We don’t have to worry, Kuroko. They’ll be here for sure.”

Kuroko appears selectively deaf at what he just said. 

“If there are any lingering regrets I might have before we die, it probably would be that I haven’t submitted my papers to Dr. Garcia,” he says—and no, it’s not from across the elevator where he was last seen. Now it’s right by Akashi’s feet, somewhere under him. Presumably crouched or seated, depending on his level of terror at this incoming tragedy about to befall them. “I spent two all-nighters to complete it, so it’s a waste if I don’t submit it for evaluation.”

It must have rattled his nerves quite a bit for him to have inched over to Akashi’s side and spewing illogical nonsense about dying regrets. Despite all reasoning of them making it to see another sunrise, Akashi finds himself sliding onto the ground to join Kuroko’s corner. Their shoulders bumped along the way, yet neither of them moved. 

“Do you have any final regrets, Akashi-kun?” Kuroko continues. A warm gust of breath hits Akashi’s ear; he presumes that’s where Kuroko’s lips are. _Close_. “Any presentations you haven’t finished with your lecturers?”

Akashi is about to reassure him for the umpteenth time that neither of them will die, but he stopped himself right before making any lofty remarks. Did he write a will yet? The redhead takes a moment to do a quick reflection on his life: His ideals, his future wishes, his unfulfilled duty of refurbishing this university and providing an ideal student life to the rest of them.

… Kuroko is starting to get to him. 

“There might be one or two things I regret,” Akashi admits. Being robbed of sight like this, it feels more like admitting his weakness to the profound emptiness than to any physical entity, which is surprisingly liberating. “I can understand your worries. I, too, have a thesis to submit for grading. It’s a shame if we don’t get to know the marks of our hard work.”

“It is.” A pause. Then Kuroko adds, matter-of-factly: “My biggest regret would probably that I won’t get to walk my dog this evening. I even promised him before I left for my class.”

“Your dog?” Akashi echoes. How surprising. Given how Kuroko always deflates out of energy in the mornings they shared, he’d suspect something quieter, easier, like caring for a fish or a cactus. Even a rock doesn’t sound farfetched. “What’s his name?”

“Nigou,” is the easy reply.

There comes another clack when he flips his phone open and Akashi winces at the beam of light erupting from the screen, but Kuroko helpfully tones it down with a few rapid pressing of buttons. What is displayed as his background wallpaper is of a plump puppy with two thick clusters of fur resembling eyebrows, and startlingly humanlike eyes. Akashi wonders if anyone has ever told Kuroko that it bore strong resemblance to him. 

“Nigou was abandoned when he was young, so I took him in,” Kuroko explains, his voice taking on the quality of a mother fondly talking about her child. With the screen highlighting his features, it isn’t hard for Akashi to see the affection that brought stars in his eyes. “He likes going for walks and chasing basketballs. Most of the time though, he likes antagonising my friend Kagami-kun.”

Hearing Kuroko affectionately recalling memories of his pet like this, it’s hard for Akashi to suppress the images of a majestic white beast that patiently waits for his return in her barn. His Yukimaru. She’s been with him through highs and lows of life; if it is indeed his fate to die smashed inside an elevator, who will routinely feed her now?

“…Akashi-kun looks sad. Did I say something wrong?”

He isn’t sure what expression has crossed his face to warrant Kuroko to say something like that. It sounds terribly ridiculous. So he tears his eyes away from the sight of Nigou attentively looking up at him, looking at Kuroko instead. 

Bad move.

The look on Kuroko’s face is obviously reserved only for Nigou, where softness dabs at his blue irises and blots out all harshness, leaving only unadulterated love—

—but there’s Kuroko, _looking_ at him with _that_ look because he’s thinking of Nigou and—

“I must have brought up some unpleasant memories,” Kuroko surmises from his lack of response. “I’m sorry, Akashi-kun.”

He’s lowered his chin and is now regarding him with downcast eyes, appearing somewhat regretful at his inconsiderate actions. It was nowhere near Kuroko's fault and he shouldn’t feel responsible for it, but he’s assuming responsibility for something he imagined on his own. 

Slowly, just slowly easing out of this stupor, Akashi clears his throat. “No, it wasn’t your fault,” he corrects him, gently shaking his head. “I just remembered my own pet, that’s all.”

He’s certain that whatever he said isn’t supposed to be heard in a hilarious context, but somehow Kuroko breaks into a small smile and _ah_ , it’s such a charming little sight. He doesn’t get a chance to dissect what made him smile, because Kuroko’s shoulder accidentally (or not?) nudges into his and the small collision easily throws the thought out of his mind. 

"You have a pet too?"

Akashi hasn’t intended for their conversation to go further since he expected Kuroko to say, “Oh I see, it wasn’t my fault,” and he’ll reassure the other with a simple, “Yes, it wasn’t your fault at all,” and they’ll enjoy each other’s silence within this enclosed space. But Kuroko just had to tip his head, asking him with the next question:

“What’s his name?”

Now that it has come to this, Akashi has no choice but to fumble for his phone again, unlock the screen, and tapping at the gallery icon just to bring up a photo of Yukimaru and him. His butler had gladly taken the picture a few months ago, claiming, “The Young Master Seijuro needs to have at least one picture of himself with Yukimaru for the sake of making memories,” and refused to take no for an answer. So there he was, mounted on Yukimaru, bedecked in his riding attire and brandishing a leather crop, smiling for the camera.

Akashi might or might not have misheard an awed gasp coming from Kuroko at the sight. 

“ _She_ is Yukimaru,” he introduces her to Kuroko like a father introducing his daughter to a potential candidate. “She’s a Camarillo—I’ve had her for as long as I could remember. I usually take her out for rides when I come back from classes. Sometimes when I don’t have enough time to refill her water or change the hay in her barn, the servants will do it for me. Usually I prefer to do it myself; that way I get to spend more time with her.”

“To be honest, I wondered what sort of pet Akashi-kun would have, since a dog sounds too common and a cat is too domestic…” Kuroko says, smiling wryly, “but I never thought it’d be a horse. It fits Akashi-kun perfectly.”

That smile of his is contagious, infecting Akashi with the slightest of quirk on his lips. “It seems that my reputation in campus even extends to the pet I have?”

“It could’ve been worse.” Kuroko replies—and there they were, shoulders bumping from Kuroko’s shrug, smiling at each other from sharing pictures of their pets, bonding in this darkness that neither of them could do much about, sitting in an ancient lift that could probably fall from the third floor of a crumbling building in their university campus. 

… which does little to fix this situation. 

 

 

It was like what Akashi had prophesied: The guards came around, realised that the lift had stopped moving, and called in the repairmen. Together, they joined forces to wrench the heavy steel doors open, and found the two of them huddled together—sweaty _and_ shirtless. Even when Akashi tried asserting that they had been waiting for rescue for a good forty minutes and there is an obvious lack of oxygen in the elevator _and_ it was hot, the guards had taken an oath not to utter a single word about this incident.

The damage was already done. 

 

 

It’s a Monday, the beginning of a new week.

“So I heard you two were making out in the lift last Friday.”

Kise chokes on his spaghetti and tugged out a whole strand of noodle from his throat, all the way out of his mouth. Aomine grins and makes crude hand motions involving a pointing finger thrusting in and out of a hole—thank you Aomine, Kuroko is glad that he’s being educated on how sexual intercourse works, if high school biology wasn’t enough. Mayuzumi’s unconcerned and constant stirring of his udon makes him look criminal, criminally devious, punctuated by the crooked smile accompanying his sentence. 

“I was not,” Kuroko deadpans. 

"Did you use the condom I gave you?" Aomine snickers.

“You two are the modern Romeo and Juliet of FAH and FBL.” Mayuzumi is quick to point out, still with the sly light in his eyes, still with the crooked quirk on his lips. “What was it again, something about being lovers in times of conflict? From two different faculties at war? Different status? It’s the new hit. Even the Animanga Club is planning to make a doujinshi out of it.”

Kuroko almost groans. Almost. “Please don’t tell me—“

“We’re splitting the profit 50/50 since I’m writing the novel side,” says Mayuzumi unrepentantly, his finger tracing imaginary numbers on the tabletop. “It’s a weekly serialisation, going on sale for about ¥850. I’ll reserve a free copy for you this week, but you’re going to pay on your own if you want next week’s issue. Sakurai’s going to draw the cover for the book.”

By right, Kuroko’s more than capable to man the defences against the three of them all by himself. All he needs to do is to hit Mayuzumi under the table as discreetly as possible to disable his ridiculous ranting, then there’d be some peace and quiet. At least, if Aomine opts not to add his unwarranted comments here and there. There’s no way they’ll let him live it down without a fight, especially things are blown out of proportion like this. 

The moment Aomine opens his mouth, a hand absentmindedly thumping Kise on his back to ease his deathlike coughs, Kuroko grimaces for what’s coming. 

But it was nothing like he expected.

“Oh yeah, today’s the deadline for the Student Council President thing. Satsuki said they’re counting the votes right now. I heard that your love story with Akashi won over the rest of the FAH kids. They voted for him as soon as they got the news.”

“Just to fulfil their fantasies of seeing the romance between a Student Council President and a common student,” Mayuzumi conspiratorially whispers. 

Such supportive people they are, Kuroko wonders if there’s a way to terminate his friendship with them. He’s already about to hightail it out of there to find refuge somewhere else quiet like the library, but his pocket buzzes with an incoming message and he finds himself taking a moment to read the contents. 

He wishes he didn’t, because it’s already too late to stop a smile from crossing his lips, too late to stop Aomine crowing at the sight, too late to stop Mayuzumi from smirking to himself and muttering, “I’m going to make some serious cash,” and just far too late to save Kise from dying.

>   
> **Date:** 10/7  
>  **Time:** 11:46 a.m.  
>  **Sender:** Akashi Seijuurou  
>  **Subject:** [NONE]  
>  **Message:**   
> _I won._  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **EXTRA:**  
>  Kuroko closes his phone with a flip. He takes a good look around the table and nods. “We’ll now be under the reign of the Emperor Akashi. We need to prepare ourselves for hard times ahead.”
> 
> Mayuzumi, unperturbed, takes a sip of his udon. “Not for us, but for you. Hard times for your ass, maybe.”  
> 
> 
>   
> so ye that's it, that's the end of the show for this uni AU. I really love writing Kisedais as uni mates so who knows I might expand on this idea maybe _(:'3 we'll see.  
> Thanks for reading, for sticking with this Uni AU, and for all your comments and kudos!  
> If you're celebrating Christmas, I hope you'll have an awesome Christmas ahead of you! *sends love and hugs* 


End file.
